"I don't know. You've got a double name, haven't you, doggie? It's Zip Coon; but it isn't a very double name,—is it, mother?"
When Mrs. Parlin had finished her doughnuts, she said, "Pussy, you can't keep still two minutes. Now, if you want to sew this patchwork for grandma's quilt, I'll tell you what I shall do. There's an empty hogshead in the back kitchen, and I'll lift you into that, and you can't climb out. I'll lift you out when your stint is done."
"O, what a funny little house!" said Prudy, when she was inside; and as she spoke her voice startled her,—it was so loud and hollow. "I'll talk some more," thought she, "it makes such a queer noise. 'Old Mrs. Hogshead, I thought I'd come and see you, and bring my work. I like your house, ma'am, only I should think you'd want some windows. I s'pose you know who I am, Mrs. Hogshead? My name is Prudy. My mother didn't put me in here because I was a naughty girl, for I haven't done nothing—nor nothing—nor nothing. Do you want to hear some singing?
'O, come, come away,
From labor now reposin';
Let busy Caro, wife of Barrow,
Come, come away!'"
"Prudy, what's the matter?" said mamma, from the next room.
"Didn't you hear somebody singing?" said Prudy; "well, 't was me."
"O, I was afraid you were crying, my dear!"
"Then I'll stop," said the child. "Now, Mrs. Hogshead, you won't hear me singing any more,—it mortifies my mother very much."
So Prudy made her fingers fly, and soon said, "Now, mamma, I've got it done, and I'm ready to be took out!"
Just then her father came into the house. "Prudy's in the hogshead," said Mrs. Parlin. "Won't you please lift her out, father? I've got baby in my arms."